


The Lust of the Mind

by shirogiku



Series: Root Causes & Shaky Foundations [4]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: 2x01, Books, Crush at First Sight, Cute Marrieds, F/M, First Impressions, IX., London, M/M, Multi, Pre-Season/Series 01, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 15:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6525976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirogiku/pseuds/shirogiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas's curiosity about Lieutenant McGraw was purely intellectual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lust of the Mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pahfoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pahfoo/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [pahfoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pahfoo/pseuds/pahfoo) in the [pirate_prompts_2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/pirate_prompts_2016) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Thomas' perspective on his and James' first meeting and a conversation with Miranda about him.  
> Bonus points for more than the first meeting. I just really want Thomas with a crush and the Hamiltons discussing James.
> 
>  **A/N:** Hey, OP, I did my best to focus on the crush and the cute marrieds, hope you enjoy ;)
> 
> The title is from a quote by Thomas Hobbes that is repeated below in the text. The Ye Olde English is [ John Mirk](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Mirk).
> 
> I'd also like to thank the blogger sagestreet @ Tumblr for the thoughtful metas on McGraw & the Hamiltons, it's been a huge help for writing them.

Thomas was, in many ways, a disappointment to his father. It had been made abundantly clear to him after his final refusal to recant and force his marriage under the yoke of the family's good name - though the seeds had been sown as far back as in Eton. In Thomas’s book, intolerance of any kind was the best argument in favour of pursuing one’s ideals with all with determination, perseverance and heart.

Lord Ashbourne was not someone who could be swayed by parlour rhetorics - conversations with him tended to be _severely_ one-sided. His instructive letters had chased Thomas all along his Grand Tour, pages upon pages of unasked-for Rules of Right and Proper Conduct for a Heir. If those missives were to be believed, Europe was not the cradle of civilisation that it was made out to be, nor the birthplace of Renaissance, but a workshop for becoming a proper gentleman. Thomas had faithfully preserved them and read out from them to his friends, leaving no harsh word unturned. He could recall vitriolic warnings even against such harmless things as French flavoured ices or American chocolate!

They were long past Thomas’s “apprenticeship” now, and if you asked the Earl, he had failed it. Unlike Peter, who was the only friend of his who had somehow managed to win a measure of the Earl's grudging approval. The task of bringing the Bahama Islands back into the fold could be his second chance or his final disgrace, costing him whatever liberties he may or may not presently enjoy.

Father had demonstratively abstracted himself from this project after arranging for an Admiralty liaison - apparently, Thomas could not be trusted to do that himself. In any case, this was a call to stop daydreaming and start turning his dreams into action. Into a physical reality that not even the most hardened cynic and materialist could deny

Another man in his position might have yielded and focused on pleasing his father and, in doing so, seeking a reconciliation.

“Perhaps you _should_ reconcile with him.” Miranda nudged Thomas to lean forward in his chair, supporting his forehead with a firm hand. “You have grown so tense, my love. What else could it be?”

The green fabric at the entrance to his study always reminded him of her favourite evening gowns. As she liked to joke, it made her suspect of wearing her own curtains. He remained steadfast, though, especially since Lord Ashbourne was so fond of calling her favourite colours garish.

“I cannot,” he replied in a muffled voice, “ _will_ _not_ seek such a reconciliation with a man who firmly believes that my wife - nay, _all_ women - are child-bearing machines that _schuld be seen, but not herd._ ”

She chuckled, her fingers rubbing tiny circles into the base of his neck. “You would make a fine medieval clergyman, I am sure.”

“Not on _his_ terms,” he persisted. “First, he must realise that he has been too set in his ways to see things clearly.”

The latest piece of correspondence had appalled him with ‘non-consummation _'_ , of all things. And for all his debating skills, Thomas could be utterly powerless in the face of such blatant prejudice.

“You are intent on proving him wrong your way, then? Wait a moment before answering.”

A pleasant shiver ran down his spine as Miranda’s ministrations began to take effect. He could feel the tension ebbing away as if it had never been there in the first place. It was her very own magic.

He sat up and clasped her hand between his. “On every account, dearest.”

She kissed the crown of his head. “So long as your project doesn’t become a private tug-of-war.”

“You _do_ know me better than that.”

Pleasing his father _or_ challenging his father’s authority was the last thing on his mind with the the future of a whole colony at stake.

He caught a glimpse of Miranda’s smile, so full of mischief, before she perched herself on the edge of his desk, arranging her skirts just so. “Actually, I have been meaning to ask about that new liaison of yours. You come home all a-flutter and mysterious, then bury your nose in a book without so much as a word - what _am_ I to make of that? Is he everything you expected, or have you finally met your match?”

“That remains to be seen, and some further investigation is in order.” He did not _mean_ to sound so evasive, but she picked up on it anyway, as she was wont to do.

She ran her finger along the book’s spine. “ _The condition of man... is a condition of war of everyone against everyone_ ,” she quoted from the memory. “A Hobbesian, that’s not very encouraging!”

“ _Curiosity is the lust of the mind,_ ” he countered. “Each prolific thinker must be right at least once in his lifetime.” He grinned. “It is a matter of mathematics.” He must tread carefully, though, for she could turn his Cardano against him before he knew what had hit him.

“What, even Mirk?”

“ _The kyng of heven ... come neyther on hegh hors... bot mekely rydyng on a sympul asse bak._ ”

The distraction _almost_ worked. “Oh you incorrigible deflector!” Bright-eyed with mirth, she pressed on: “What _are_ you trying to hide behind your high horses and asses, pray tell?”

Originally, he had envisioned someone… older. Someone who had been passed over in promotion, perhaps, or even someone on the cusp of retirement. Less afraid of making a misstep than a man of prospects. _God save us from idealists_ , a naval officer had once said to him, and the sentiment seemed to be universal among his kind.

“Thomas? You told me he was from a militant, career-making stock, to be dealt with swiftly and firmly. So, what happened? Was he terribly uncouth?”

“No, no.” Had his worst fears come true? “Not at all.” He had _not_ been assigned a younger, seafaring version of his father. “Our views _are_ in direct opposition, and he seems inclined to look down on mine, but he is neither unmovable nor closed to debate. Moreover, he isn’t one to shy away from adversity, from what I could tell.”

Miranda lowered herself onto Thomas’s lap, stroking his hair. “Remind me where he comes from, will you?”

There was precious little to remind of. The son of a carpenter, a self-made man with a bright future ahead of him.

“You must be careful how you present your case. Do you remember Sir Rufus, the sugar trader?” He nodded. “Challenge _one_ thing at a time. Don’t crowd him or get ahead of yourself.”

“Yes, dearest.”

“And remember, in the end, the measure of a man with a bright future lies not so much in his origins as in what he has cast aside for its sake.”

He made a face. “Isn’t that the same as gossip-mongering?” He had no wish to count the skeletons in a stranger’s closet. Let alone that of a man he may grow to like.

Miranda leaned into him, toying with his untied neckcloth. “There is no shame in arming yourself against your father’s designs.”

He shook his head. “Lieutenant McGraw is the Admiralty’s man, and no one else's.”

“As you say, we shall see.”

As she kissed him, he reached for her pins and struggled with them until she finally let down her hair. He loved Miranda’s hair. He loved everything about her - her lust for life, her wisdom, her shining eyes. Right now, the Bahamas belonged to the Lords Proprietor, at least on paper, but he would give them back to their people, and maybe, just maybe, he and his wife could find a safe haven there afterwards.

Hobbes _was_ a fascinating study. He argued that conscience was a choice, not an innate quality, as Thomas himself believed. A Hobbesian created his own inner struggles. And not to be shallow, but Lieutenant McGraw stood out among his fellow weather-beaten seamen like his red hair stood out in a sea of wigs. Thomas might just have a more difficult time marshalling his thoughts than he could have possibly anticipated.

Miranda nipped at his neck, startling him.

She took his chin between her fingers. “You _are_ still thinking about your liaison, aren’t you?” She paused. “Oh _Thomas_.” She slid off his lap and folded her arms across her chest. “That is the _worst_ idea you could have had! And I’ve seen my fair share from you.”

He huffed. “You’ll understand my predicament the moment you lay your eyes on him, trust me.”

Far from waiting to be formally introduced, she followed them on their foray into Execution Dock. Climbing into the carriage afterwards, Thomas measured her with a fluttery, expectant look. She compressed her lips and then concealed them behind her fan for good measure.

He broke into a grin. “I _knew_ it!” He patted her knee in excitement. “You _liked_ him too!”

“I did not say that,” she replied primly.

She did not _have_ to say anything. She had glanced to the side just so - it was her tell at cards, though rarely did he put that knowledge to use.

“He _is_ rather handsome,” she conceded. “And oh so very proper.”

“Isn’t he just?” It was the kind of propriety that invited a _thorough_ unbuttoning.

She swatted at him with the fan. “The lust of the _mind_ , hmm?”

He assumed his most innocent expression. “I shall be on my best behaviour, dearest, I promise. Will you?”

“The trouble with you, Thomas, is that your best also happens to be your worst.” She maintained that he ought to be sent back to Eton.

He had his work cut out for him indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are <3


End file.
